Fall Leaf Peeping Along California Highway 395
A Photo Essay
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”
— Albert Camus
Fall is different in California. In his evocative 1996 L. A. Times essay, "As Seasons Turn End Over End," Peter H. King writes, "Fall is California's forgotten season. … The change is easy to ignore. The signs are so subtle. The sun seems to lose a few kilowatts of power. The oppressive, white sky of summer begins to blue up a tiny bit."
Subtle it may be in Los Angeles, but California's size and varied topography yield vastly different renditions of autumn. Where I live on the Monterey Peninsula, "summer" begins in late September as the notorious Pacific Ocean marine layer retreats, promising warm evenings and glorious sunsets until the rains arrive. Vineyards, riparian cottonwood groves, and exotic imports offer a glimpse of color, but nothing compares with the annual display on the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
In contrast to the traditional extended show on the East Coast, fall in the Sierras happens fast. Sometimes in just days, as waves of color sweep down from the cooler peaks through aspen-lined canyons to the high desert of the Owens Valley. Blink, and you can miss it.
Fall Color Map and Guide
I had glimpsed the promise of fall in my 2025 "California Highway 395, A Uniquely Western Road Trip," so I decided to make leaf peeping the focus of this visit.
Inyo and Mono Counties publish a map that highlights 22 of the most popular fall foliage locations along Highway 395. I used this resource, along with a weekly email update from californiafallcolor.com, to pinpoint the best places to visit in late October. That color came a little early this year and had already descended to lower elevations, where the most brilliant colors appear in lakeside reflections, which determined my itinerary.
June Lakes Area
We arrived at June Lake late in the afternoon via Yosemite and the nearly 10,000-foot Tioga Pass, where a sprinkling of early snow dusted the roadside. With just an hour or so of daylight remaining, we headed for nearby Gull Lake to catch the last of the golden aspen glow on the darkening water.
My preference for alternatives to bland chain hotels led to an interesting find at June Lake. During the summer, the Copeland Center, at the former Fern Creek Lodge, offers outdoor access and a healing environment for military members and veterans with disabilities. In other seasons, the public is welcomed at this eclectic collection of spacious, renovated cabins. For the price of a cramped motel room, we could have entertained a family.
Lundy Canyon
Next morning, the seven miles of Lundy Canyon Road were lined with dense groves of aspens and willow thickets at peak color. Drivers rushing past Lundy Lake to reach the trail and waterfall at the head of the canyon likely missed the best of this sublime fall scene. We chose to park and walk the last mile of the unpaved road that hugs the lake shore, savoring the setting in the silence and solitude of brilliant early light.
I caught the profile of a craggy face peeking from the willows before I realized it was a rock painted as a Plains Indian feather war bonnet. Apparently it has been there since the 1970s; the colors were still bright, so someone must have touched it up recently.
Bodie State Historic Park
As midday light is poor for leaf-peeping, we detoured east of Highway 395 to Bodie State Historic Park. The last few miles of the 13-mile drive through rock-strewn, treeless foothills were boneshakingly unpaved. Beyond aspens and cottonwoods lining Clearwater Creek, the only visible patches of gold were scattered late blooms of rubber rabbitbrush, the ubiquitous high-desert summer flower.
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Bodie exists because of metallic gold rather than the more ephemeral variety. After the discovery of a rich body of ore in 1875, the remote community swelled to over 8,000 residents. The last one left in 1942, and the remaining weather-beaten, dilapidated buildings are preserved in a state of "arrested decay"—failing roofs are repaired, and buildings are stabilized but not restored. The legends of the pioneers, however, continue to thrive in talks by park rangers and in visitors' imaginations. Perhaps stirred by the dark story of Kate in the current revival of Steinbeck's East of Eden, the most frequent question I overheard was "Where are the houses of the ladies of the night?" Long gone, we located the site on “Maiden Lane.”
Twin Lakes
At the head of a canyon, backed by the 11,000-plus-foot Sawtooth Ridge peaks, Twin Lakes is a popular fishing and camping recreation area about 10 miles east of Bridgeport. See photo at the top of this story.
Occasional clumps of golden thimbleberry leaves lit the pine forest as we hiked up to Horse Creek Falls. Back at the lake shore, I noticed aspens at peak color sandwiched between groves still green and others in leafless silver. As they all shared the same light, soil, and access to water, how could that be? ChatGPT explained: "Aspens often reproduce by sending up shoots from a shared root system, creating a group of genetically identical trees called a clone. Different groves may be different clones, each with its own genetic timetable for autumn senescence — the process by which leaves age and fall. Some clones turn yellow and drop their leaves earlier than others, even when growing close together."
Bridgeport
Bridgeport (population 553), the largest town and seat of Mono County, boasts the second-oldest continuously operating courthouse in California. As busy Highway 395 cuts straight through its heart, drivers must back into parking slots to reduce the risk of collision with speeding monster trucks. We stayed at the Silver Maple Inn, a single-story 1930s-era white clapboard motor lodge replete with the quirks and charm of age.
Bridgeport offered several unexpected diversions for us to ponder. A padlocked glass-topped freezer on the sidewalk outside Ken's Sporting Goods store displayed half a dozen trophy-size brown and rainbow trout with no explanation. We later learned that they were awaiting collection by a taxidermist to mount them for display by their proud anglers. Further down the block, the Jelly Kove offered a typical drive-in menu of burgers, burritos, and ice cream, with an enterprising entrepreneurial twist—a massage.
Monitor and Ebbetts Passes
Alternating intensely colored and spent aspen groves lined the tumbled, rugged rock-strewn riverbed along Highway 395 north through the Walker River Canyon. At Topaz, we turned west up the steep grade of Monitor Pass, then continued onto Highway 4 south of Marleeville. Tight switchbacks, often barely wider than our vehicle, took us over the nearly 9,000-foot summit of Ebbetts Pass.
I edged carefully past several groups of cyclists testing their sanity and endurance along the scarily narrow pavement. We speculated that they were dedicated masochists training for the punishing 100-mile "Tour of the California Alps Death Ride" held on this route every July.
Bonus Detours
Back in the great Central Valley, two detours brightened our long drive home. Both deserve their own story. Until then, here is a hint of their unique appeal.
Sequoiadendron giganteum, the giant inland redwood, tops out at 300-plus feet. That's not as tall as sequoia sempervirens, its coastal cousin, but with a trunk diameter of 20 feet or more, measured by volume and weight, it is the world's largest tree. Limited to isolated groves on the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada, they are not easy to access.
The North Grove at Calaveras Big Trees State Park is an exception. From the visitor center parking lot, just a few steps found us in a majestic, cathedral-like space of towering redwoods. Every turn of the easy under-2-mile trail through a dense understory of still-green, dogwood trees revealed another awe-inspiring giant. Fallen trunks large enough to walk inside enhanced our appreciation of their massive size. Sad relics of several of the largest remain from the days before their value as living, growing organisms still haunt the forest. Stripped of its thick protective outer bark for display across the country, the burned skeleton of the Mother of the Forest perished in a fire. Weakened by the trauma of a tunnel carved through its base, the Pioneer Cabin Tree collapsed into a shattered pile of lumber in a recent winter storm. Short of time to visit the more remote South Grove, we hasten to reach another wonder of the natural world before sunset
Every winter, the Merced National Wildlife Refuge hosts the largest concentration of lesser sandhill cranes on the Pacific Skyway. Upwards of 20,000 of these elegant birds migrate from Alaska and Canada to feed in these former wetlands of the Valley. Now largely drained for farmland, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service selectively floods fields and vernal pools of this 10,000-acre refuge from mid-September through March. A free 5-mile auto route tour encircles the ponds at the center of the reserve.
We arrived just as reserve staff were hosting a public fly-in presentation about the natural history of the cranes and the challenges of managing precious water allocations in an era of declining supply. We caravanned to an elevated platform on the east side of the ponds to watch the sunset. As the light dimmed, distant honking heralded the pending arrival of the first squadron. Within minutes, a precision V-formation swooped over our heads and settled noisily onto a grassy island to rest for the night, safe from predators. For the next hour, wave after wave of raucous trumpeting birds appeared from every direction until we left in near darkness. My companion declared the whole journey worthwhile just for this one extraordinary experience.
Long retired from a career in Silicon Valley's early years, David A. Laws lives in Carmel Valley, where he photographs, writes, and presents on topics from gardens and travel to hi-tech history. See his stories at davidlaws.medium.com.
